A Girl's Gotta Do What a Girl's Gotta Do
by MinervaDeannaBond
Summary: Detective work often calls for a sacrifice of dignity. Jessica never dreamed that hers would be dressing up like a tart, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Novelization/"deleted scene" from S05E10, "Weave a Tangled Web." Second in the Queen of Tarts Trilogy.


When I first wrote my story _The Queen of Tarts, _I didn't imagine I'd ever write a companion for it... until I heard a certain song. Inspired by Mindy McCready's song of the same name, this tale is a novelization of the classic Starlight Motel bar scene from "Weave a Tangled Web," as well as another deleted scene from the episode. I love the title of this story, purely because it sounds like it could be Jessica's motto!

* * *

Red pumps tapped the floor of the Starlight Motel's bar as the upbeat big band instrumental began, fingers tipped with equally red nails snapped out the beat, and red lips curved into a smile as the woman in the red blouse danced her way across the room, catching the eye of every man in the joint. To the drunks in the house and the bartender who ran the place, she was just another tart coming to flaunt herself and land a date. To her and the man waiting for her outside in his car, she was Jessica Fletcher, mystery writer and amateur detective.

Flaunting her real estate was normally not on her list of priorities at _any _time, nor was getting herself a date for the evening. Tonight, however, she had to act the part of such a woman – a "middle-aged Madonna," she'd titled her role, whereas Seth Hazlitt, acting as her wingman, had called her Jessica Rabbit. Detective work frequently called for sudden losses of dignity, and this was one of them, big time – but it was worth the sacrifice if she could save a good friend.

Hoofing it for all she was worth, Jessica pranced and shimmied past tables full of ogling men until she reached the bar, letting out a faux sigh of exasperation as she hopped up onto one of the bar stools. "Doesn't anybody wanna dance around here?" she drawled in the New York accent she had contrived to match her flashy disguise.

Frankie the bartender, a lanky guy with dark hair and cow eyes, eyed her with more than a smidgen of curiosity. She had breezed in the door like she owned the place not ten minutes ago, all Mae West brass and sass, ordered a shot of Jack, and then shook what her mama gave her all the way to and all the way from the jukebox. She'd left her first glass of whiskey practically untouched, but he figured he'd do the polite thing and offer her another one. "Same thing again, ma'am?"

Jessica shrugged. "Oh, I suppose so," she sighed, resting her head in her hand as he poured her another glass. "You know, Frankie, the problem with betting on baseball is you can't chart the biorhythms."

"Biorhythms?" Frankie asked, raising his eyebrows. "I never heard of that one."

Jessica pretended to sip her drink and then launched into her story, rubbing a hand behind her left ear while she spoke. "You spend an hour charting the starting pitchers. First thing you know, some slaphappy manager brings in a reliever. No!" she said, ending the last word with a chuckle. "Gimme football anytime! You chart the quarterbacks, you chart the kickers, and if you get a plus-5 differential over the spread, you bet the mortgage and your firstborn kid. Believe me, I can't wait 'til September!" She faked another gulp of the Jack Daniel's and glanced to her left, at a man seated at the far end of the bar. She knew exactly who he was, but pretended to be clueless in order to get what she needed from Frankie. "Has Augie been in today?"

At the mention of his name, Augie, alias Augie Spector, peeked in Jessica's direction. He looked like a loner, sitting by himself at the opposite end of the bar, but Jessica knew better. The man had a nasty reputation as a gambling shark, and he frequented the Starlight Motel about as often as a rat did a sewer. He may have given Jessica a sideways look, but he didn't know her from Eve. Which was a good thing, for if he did, there was a good chance she would be meeting the same fate as Eric Bowman.

"Augie… uh, Augie!" Frankie stammered, at which Jessica forced herself not to roll her eyes. It was one of the worst bits of acting she had ever seen. Frankie was trying to act like he didn't know who the heck Augie was, but she could see it in his eyes that he knew him very well indeed. "Yes, I-I think I remember him." He gave her a look that was undoubtedly meant to be curious, but failed to mask the nervousness that bled through. "He's-he's a friend of yours?"

Inwardly, Jessica smiled. She had him, hook, line, and sinker. "Well, he's not what I would call a personal friend, but somebody told me to look him up." She leaned forward confidentially. "Is he what you'd call a straight shooter?"

Now Frankie looked truly nervous, little beads of sweat beginning to stand out on his skin. "I don't – I don't know anything about him, ma'am, other than somebody said he used to be a sparring partner for Jerry Cooney." He paused to collect himself as Jessica breathed an "Oh" and nodded. "If I see him, I'll tell him you're looking for him."

Jessica flashed him a smile. "Right. You got a cigarette?"

"Sure." Frankie reached beneath the counter and took out a pack of cigarettes; Jessica pulled one from the box and winked as she thanked him; all he could mutter was an "Mmm-hmm" in response, staring after her as she hopped off the stool and bounced over to where Augie sat.

Augie didn't even bat an eyelash when Jessica, bouncing like Tigger, hopped herself up onto the stool next to his, an unlit cigarette in one hand and her purse slung over her shoulder. _I'll get him talking, _she thought to herself as she got herself situated. "Hello." He finally turned his head and gave her a bored, _what-the-heck-do-you-want-lady _look. She popped the cigarette between her lips, and leaned toward him as though she expected him to light it for her. Sure enough, the next question out of her mouth was "Have you got a light?"

He stared at her for a second or two before answering, like he didn't quite know what to make of her. "I don't smoke," he finally said bluntly. "It annoys the surgeon general."

Jessica nodded, took the cigarette out of her mouth, and set it aside, silently giving thanks that he hadn't lit it. Her husband, Frank, had been a pipe smoker, but Jessica herself was not a smoker at all. Asking for the cigarette and then fishing for a light had all been part of her act; however, if that thing had actually been lit, her cover would have been blown to Kingdom Come. Grateful that she had been spared the jeopardy of coughing her head off, Jessica reassumed her flirty persona and smiled at the shyster. "So, I hear you're the man that I should talk to..." She paused, making a slight kissing pucker with her lips. "Augie."

The man actually curled his lip in disgust. "Lady, I'm married. Three children."

Jessica nearly laughed at the irony. He was a liar and a thief, the most notorious hustler in Cabot Cove, yet he asserted morals when it came to marriage and family. Well, his wife and three children were going to get a nasty shock very soon, if her plan succeeded. She reached into her purse and pulled out the latest racing form from Suffolk Downs. "Well, there's this nag in the seventh at Suffolk – Potato Pancake. I like her name. I thought maybe we could do a little business."

Augie scoffed at the proposition, yet the flicker of fear in his eyes had not gone unnoticed by Jessica. "Listen to me, lady. I don't know what business you're in, but I don't like discussing mine with strangers. I also don't appreciate other people discussing my business with strangers," he said pointedly, glaring at Frankie, who had _guilty _written all over his face. Augie slapped down some money and tossed the bartender a curt nod. "Good night, Frankie."

Jessica watched him stalk out of the bar, unsure of how to feel about the whole situation. On one hand, she hadn't gotten very much in the way of hard evidence out of either Augie or Frankie, yet on the other, their actions, gestures, and reactions had spoken volumes about their involvement in this crime. Either way, there was one thing she _was _sure of: she would have to come back the next night and do another snoop job – and Seth was not going to be very pleased about that. She slid off the bar stool and was about to take her leave when Frankie called after her.

"Ma'am?" Frankie held up a small case in his hand as she spun around. "You forgot your glasses."

So she had. Feigning a forgetful grunt, Jessica strode back to the bar and reclaimed her glasses. "Thanks," she said, rummaging in her purse. She took out enough money to pay her tab plus some extra as Frankie's tip, and slid it toward him. He accepted it with a surprised "Thank _you_," again staring after her as she sashayed out of the bar.

* * *

"Goldarnit, Jessica, where are you?"

It was no secret that patience was not particularly high on Seth Hazlitt's list of virtues, and it became even more glaringly obvious as he waited out in his car in the Starlight Motel parking lot, hoping and praying that Jessica was going to be all right. He'd agreed, albeit grudgingly, to take her out here despite his reservations, and he'd even gotten a kick out of her outfit when he first saw her wearing it. Though now, upon witnessing the people that were making their way in and out of the bar, he was worried that some letch might have tried to hit on Jessica... or worse.

_No, Seth, don't think that way. Jess is gonna be all right, _he told himself, even as he drummed out the Anvil Chorus on the steering wheel. Still, Seth knew that the kind of men that hung around this place were not likely to leave Jessica alone while she was dressed like a tart. _The Queen of Tarts. _The thought of the nickname he'd bestowed upon Jessica's disguise made him chuckle in spite of his tense mood. It sure as heck suited that screaming red blouse she was wearing, though he loved her in red anyway. Loved her no matter what.

A flash of red in the headlights of a nearby car suddenly caught his eye, and Seth breathed a sigh of relief when the passenger door opened and Jessica slid in – releasing very much the same sigh. "Well, it's about time, Jess. I thought I was gonna have to go in and get you. Are you all right?"

Jessica rolled her eyes. "Seth, for heaven's sake, I'm fine! Nothing happened. I got ogled quite a bit and even whistled at, but no one pinched me, kissed me, or hit on me."

"Well, thank God for that." Seth watched her for a heartbeat as she took a handkerchief out of her purse and wiped off her red lipstick. "If that happened, I'd have to go in there and hit on someone myself – hit right on their head." He started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot onto the road that led back into town. "So, did you find out anything?"

"Not a smoking gun, but I do know that both Augie and Frankie are involved in this somehow. Augie's definitely the shark behind Eric Bowman's gambling debts, and Frankie has got to be his partner or something like that."

"Toady? Lackey? Flunky? Any other term that fits the bill?"

Jessica chuckled. "You have more Sam Spade in you than you realize, Seth. That's exactly right. I don't have any concrete proof of it yet, but I do have an idea of how to get the truth out of both of them... which is why we need to go back tomorrow night."

Seth nearly slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road. "_What_? You want me to take you back out there so you can put on your floozy act again? Jess, one night is one thing, but _two_? You really have lost your marbles!"

"No, I have not," Jessica said firmly. "I've figured out who killed Eric Bowman, and I'm going to prove it with or without your help."

"Cool your jets, woman!" Seth protested, knowing by Jessica's tone that he had gone too far. Just as he had done earlier that morning, he pulled over onto the shoulder and put the car in park. With a sigh, he turned to Jessica, who was gazing back at him with those big, determined blue eyes. "Jess, I'm sorry. I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but I don't want to see you get hurt."

Jessica gave him a soft smile. "I know. And I wasn't hurt tonight, was I?" When he shook his head no, she continued, "No, because you were here as my wingman."

"As your Robin." Seth looked over her outfit and grinned. "Though I doubt Bruce Wayne ever wore a getup like that."

Jessica looked down at herself and laughed. "No, I can't picture Batman as the Queen of Tarts."

The doctor chuckled himself and started the car back up. "Well, let's get going, now that Robin's laid a big, fat egg." He pulled out onto the road and wrinkled his nose. "And Batman smells for sure. Jeez, Jess, you smell like smoke and Miller Lite."

"Well, what do you expect a bar to smell like? A rose garden?" Jessica giggled. "I'll take a shower when we get home. After being in that place, I feel like I _need _to bathe."

"You probably do. You've been hobnobbing with Cabot Cove's bottom feeders." Seth glanced sideways at her and gave her a half-grin. "Tell you what. I'll wash that outfit of yours while you shower. Then I'll make us both some dinner. How's that sound?"

"Sounds wonderful." Jessica reached out and touched his shoulder. "I'm so blessed to have you, Seth."

"Same here, Jess." His eyes crinkled even further. "Or should I call you Your Majesty?"

"Oh, Seth!" Jessica gave his arm a gentle smack. "You are never going to let me live this down, are you?"

Seth laughed. "Nope. It's not every day you get to see the great J.B. Fletcher dolled up as the Queen of Tarts, and all to solve a mystery and help a friend."

Jessica merely grinned, shrugging the shoulders that were still draped in scarlet satin. "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."


End file.
